


Without Vakarian

by small_secret



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character of Faith, Destroy Ending, F/M, Heavy Angst, Major Character Injury, Multi, Mutual Pining, Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Slow Burn, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Spacer (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_secret/pseuds/small_secret
Summary: She stopped the Reapers for the people she loved, including him, even if he might never know it. Even if that knowledge dies with her.And yet, Shepard breathes.





	1. Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This particular Shepard comes from a mixed religious family and has some spiritual leanings.

She gasps, her lungs rattle, and there are stars.

 

Her body is on fire and there are stars; and it hurts so much under those stars. Large and aching, even in the broken sky and shattered world under her. They're far and distant and she's witnessed so many, so how could it be that only _now_ she realizes how deep and very terrible that vastness was?

 

And somehow, despite all the weight of that nothingness and stars, of shattered metal and glass, she is breathing.

 

She breathes and she's scared for how very long she can breathe before the elements of her home world will take her.

 

 _I want Garrus._  It's a foolish plead that whispers in her head, a child's tone that she hasn't uttered since a girl –  _Liar, **Akuze**!_

 

Oddly, it's **not** the tone that she's ashamed of but rather the want. He's something she **cannot** have. So, she attempts to wish to something attainable and to her horror, she can't think of _anything_.

 

She is very still in the rubble as this horror washes over her like a cold stream. And then she whimpers.

 

There's no embarrassment about this whimper that leaves her, as she settles into her fate. She's fallen with a city and monsters somewhere upon the Earth, maybe even Luna –

 

_No, not Luna, there's air._

 

By all account she should have been dead. And soon she will be.

 

There are stars and they, too, will fade away.

 

With cheeks wet she tries to move her arm, and it listens to her, but something heavy is on it. Her other arm can move just a little more, but it hurts. Her legs? She's aware of her legs but can't move them and she's not sure if it's weight or a broken spine. The insanity of it all makes her laugh shrill and high into the night sky and punctuates the silence that shrouds her. But at the least she sees her dog tags.

 

Shepard doesn't know she blacked out until she hears scraping, wakening her from whatever sleep she had. If it was sleep. Brain damage, maybe? Still, she thinks she hears it. _Knows_ she hears it. The noise is chitinous and scraping and whispers. Her mind is a haze and she desperately wants what she cannot have, her fingertips twitching as she stares into the bruise colored sky.

 

The sun is coming up and there are sounds and the stars are fading.

 

The chittering is soft, it's gentle, it's almost melodic and her skin twitches under the invisible fire of her nerves that are becoming alive again. And she knows that sound. She knows; once upon a time she slaughtered many, all that were insane and she did not know better.

 

Her head lifts, _oh dear Khuda she can lift her head_ , and she turns her gaze.

 

The rubble of the citadel is mournful triumph, ruined cathedral and masque and temple, and she can't see far. Just twisted metal that's black in the hour before dawn. Like a forest or dead city, they rise high above her though it's more matter of perspective. It's alien and surreal and perfect setting for what she sees next.

 

It is a sinuous creature, the one that alarms primitive fears of unknown insects that has roots throughout mankind's history with death and disease and famine. It lifts an antlike head and it's serpentine tentacles rise high. Another appears with it, then a third, then more. They creep to her and she finds hysteria - that **awful** misogynistic word - rising once more.

 

Then she remembers what they are now, and the fear dies away, only leaving strange sorrow as she watches a massive figure begins loom from the brightening darkness of the ruined splendor, towering over her children. The dying star-shine catches in large multiple eyes, making them sparkle. It's the Queen. And the Queen has no voice.

 

"I'm _sorry_ ," Ah, good, **Shepard** can talk. Though her husky voice has turned to smoke and sounds broken. She's not entirely sure if the Queen can understand. "Are you... are you stranded? I hadn't thought-" Shepard lowers her head on the pillow of broken metal. Her sob is raspy, how many people had she truly saved as the world turned red and she fell? Did the Reapers still triumph despite falling from the sky like her? "I didn't mean to."

 

And those intelligent eyes of the Queen regard her .

 

"Stay, please stay. Just a little while..." Things are harder to hear now, though she's vaguely aware of the chittering, the strike of glass and metal and from the corner of her eye, she sees the strange tentacles of rachni soldiers back carry the shards of ruin. "Please sing me to sleep, just one song. _Please_."

 

The Queen reaches out with her tentacle and Shepard feels the very tip caress her check. Delicately, the gesture causes Shepard to breathes in relief even as her primal nerves crawl. It makes her legs quiver and she can feel it.

 

 _Good, that's something_ , Shepard thinks as a heavy blackness tugs at the corners of her eyes. She's **aware** of other voices now, deep. Very deep and pain becomes less and breathing become easier.  She watches the queen with her alien presence and beautiful eyes until the world fades to black. Shepard can hear roaring, but she can't place where or what. But it jogs something in her mind, something she found herself cautious of what felt like a lifetime ago. _Bloodrage_. She thinks, it sounds like bloodrage.

 

Then it's silence and blur.

* * *

 

 _Khuda;_ Farasi term for 'God', used both in Christianity and Islam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a long and might be very painful (or sometimes painful) Shakarian fic with a happy end. Mostly canon compliant with a Shepard never took the plunge with Garrus in ME2 and fully regrets it. There is no cheating on Garrus' behalf nor will there ever be. Tags will appear as they are needed and ratings will eventually become apparent.


	2. Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding an unknown world with an inherited crew can be horrific; notably when someone so important is gone. 
> 
> Garrus manages, almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At present I do not have a beta. Any suggestions would be welcome and all tolerance for an unbeta work is appreciated.

From the monument he stepped out of the Normandy and onto the spongy forest floor, Garrus could feel the humidity threatening creep between the fine lines of his armor and into his skin. What was that human phrase uttered? It’s not the heat but the unwelcomed whispers of thick unknown air from a lush, green world.

 

However, heat is something turians are used to; apex predators who survived by cunning and tooth and diligence and tolerance. He’s _not_ a very good turian, the later traits have been hard won, but they’ve finally cemented when he needed them most.

 

Still, Garrus is careful with his toing on the ground. He's never been much of one for smell, far weaker than most of his kind, but even now he can recognize odor of greenery and flora that only comes after fresh rain. The sky above them is blue and the canopy too tall to see beyond imminently . Likely, there's oxygen and nitrogen in suitable balance.

 

He can only assume the later, the Normandy’s soft crash caused more than enough friction to start a fire there had been too much oxygen had been in the air. Though, he supposes a recent rainstorm could alleviate the chances of a fire.

 

It doesn't feel right to lead, and it's not his injuries burning after a healthy slap of medi-gel and damned stubbornness. This is not his crew; it's only inherited. He had always been on Shepard's left wing - as he understood this wasn't always a place of honor in human symbolism though it held differently for turians. Any protected side was a good side and Shepard had recognized that, her left side had always been a little weaker and he bolstered her strength.

 

As he moves memories of Omega surfaced despite his exhaustion – those good memories, those memories that don't make him feel like a sham. Back when things were black and white... so black and white the details become translucent and faded, where he had wavered into gray and never realized it.

 

The gradation of details were so clear to him now, minute and fine.

 

"How are you two holding up?" He asks over the intercoms to his crew. That’s working and so is the majority of their life support, the medical bay, and the short-range radio. Small favors, Garrus notes.

 

"Hey, I'm right as rain Scars. No whining from my end of things, Lola kept me in the Normandy." There's irritation under Vega's voice, though Garrus knows the irritation comes from guilt... and that? That's something Garrus just can't focus on right now.

 

 Not the abstractions or the feelings of what happened less than a day ago. Even if everything reminds Garrus that Shepard is gone from the Normandy and could be –.

 

"And that’s a good thing, too, Mr. Vega," Cortez's dry voice is still new to Garrus, but he's a good man for all intents and purposes, "'Otherwise you leave Mr. Vakarian out here with me, and I haven't fired a shot on foot since '85."

 

“I’m starting to question your authority, Garrus.”  There's something of a chuckle over the intercoms as the crew moves forward, "Can't figure out the  stars around here and you except me to haul your ass back when the local cluster’s Thresher Maw pops up, Esteban? Keep talking, next time we force Javik out here. I miss the _sucio cabrón_."

 

"Wait until it's dark, James. We'll figure it out then." The tone is good natured, not at all forced, and Garrus is glad for that. Javik was a brooding presence at the best of times, though the fact the Prothean had expressed concern about finding a garden world so close to Sol he didn’t recognize bothered Garrus.

 

It was damned cheery, but Javik's disquiet **wasn’t** out of place, it was far better to regard the challenges of here and now as best they can.  "I'm sure when we get the Normandy to full power, we'll find this planet isn't uncharted, weren't you all trying to find exosolar planets close to home?" The turian asks, his pale eyes still scan the rainforest before them, and occasionally scrapes the ground with the barrel of the Typhoon.  

 

A large, rambling insect about a long as a human **snake** ambles past and Garrus says _nothing_. Both Vega and Cortez have good armor on, and so does he.

 

"Oh yeah. One of our colonies is within FTL range but I doubt we crash landed into her, we would have picked up something on radio. Once we get the Normandy up, we can send out a signal and someone should get us in a couple of weeks."

 

Garrus is not entirely sure if this is a good thing, though he can’t hear any changes of vocals coming from James. This entire situation makes the turian tense. He would **kill** for a cup of Jennet's tea.

 

Thinking of her first name sends a swift pain that brings the world to sharper clarity.

 

_Damn it, focus!_

 

They move steady under palms and shrubs along the forest floor, falling into unsure silence until Garrus' visor timer app flickers to life in indicating the Galactic hour. Again, he checks in with his squad a quick prompt if they're all right and neither man requests to stop. A little something he picked up from his own time on Omega, becoming standard among several generals on Meane including the would be Primarch. 

 

Three hours, they agreed to explore for three hours before they would turn back. The walk back would be slightly swifter though samples would need to be captured to insure the local bacteria wasn't harmful. Nothing much, leaves and grasses for a quick consideration. The Normandy was well shocked for these simple tests and Chakawas assured them the medical supplies would last for months if not the year.

 

The food supply was slightly more distressing. Enough for some months and while this planet looked promising it was unlikely dextro-amino based. Turians and quarians were rarities within the galaxy.

 

Still, hopes ran high and the relative proximity to Sol ran brighter, though Liara's hopes were the highest. And damned if he couldn't use some of her hope right about now.

 

There's song as they move along the thick vegetation, soft chirruping of something familiar in cacophony above them. Garrus knows this is a damn good sign, whatever is around, it's not predators in the trees. He ought to know. Still, his hand goes up when he hears rustling and both his companions stop in their tracks, listening to the wind and leaves.

 

For a moment, the turian can't breathe and he can swear he can't hear neither Cortez or James breathe over their intercoms.

 

Leaves shiver, shudder, and slowly Garrus lifts the Typhoon to take aim. Not entirely his weapon of choice, but he hadn't left his tour of duty behind the Hierarchy’s  ront lines without learning how to handle an assault rifle and how to handle it _well_. A little too much for C-Sec but damned useful these past four years.

 

A creature dashes by, the plumage bright cobalt and tanzanite. The legs are thick and long and the avian like creature stands a good half meter above _Garrus'_ crest. It stops for a moment, the plumage long and hairy and the tail far more iridescent than the deep shades of its body. The wide spaced eyes indicate it's a prey species and the snout more akin to serpent than bird. It gives Garrus a look with one swivel of its pupil, a second eyelid blinks as it recognizes him for the predator that he is, and dashes away.

 

"Huh, is that lunch?" James muses behind him.

 

"We'll see in six months," Garrus notes dryly as he begins the pace once more,  noticing the play of light upon the leaves becoming brighter and more patchy in its patterns. Huh, they're getting out of the forest.

 

"Well, hell, dinner’ll be on me, then!" There's a cheer in James' voice. Cortez mutters something untranslatable but humor remains in the air. So, Garrus _assumes_ all is good. Damn, he’d kill to smell better at times like these.

 

"Are you sure? Felt like I just met an ancestor," The turian chuckles as he moves forward and considers the creature they've just found as they push further out. Not quite an ancestor, the creature far too soft to survive the radiation of Palaven nor the harsh winds. Radiation shouldn’t be an issue… water, oxygen, possibly edible food.

 

The only issue now was disease.

 

As he expected, the foliage along the forest floor began to spread lush and wide as sunshine peered from leaves. The edge of the forest soon came upon them and there was a change of texture of the ground under his toes. Far more durable, more compact, as if processed or used not so very long ago.

 

Still, it hadn't prepared him to see the graying edges of eaves and corrugated walls stained and weather beaten. Green wrapped around the failure of civilization, reclaiming the land that been taken as the price to pay with only with animal song to mourn the passing.

 

Garrus felt his heart kick closer to 200 beats than 170, "Oh... this isn't good." He whispered, his sub vocals quivering _just_ under human hearing.

 

"My God." He heard Cortez breathe out in quiet horror, "I don't remember this. This isn't the Manswell Expedition, is it?"

 

"Can't be, they just discovered that colony, what? A couple of months ago when they caught an Asari." The marine moves past Garrus and Cortez for a moment, the shotgun aimed low as he creeps forward, they all scan the clearing. "But it's not anything recent, I don't think? Fuck, I'd say we look for survivors but..."

 

The turian nods sharply, "They don't look like the prefabricated style on the newer human colonies that I've seen. All right, we're taking 30 minutes to explore the first intact and safe unit we see. Data collection is our primary target though if there are biological remains, we're bagging it and taking it back to Liara and Dr. Chakwas as requested. Cortez, I want you note anything that might be too heavy to carry back to the Normandy if we can't collect data with the omnitools. James? Watch our backs and keep that watch running. I know Liara asked for samples from the flora on our trek but I think this takes higher precedence."

 

Garrus regarded the two humans, the familiar cloak of leadership uncomfortable but _donned_. "Before you pick up any biological remains, scan your suits and make sure there are no air leaks. I know there's a warning system for Alliance based armory, we do in the Hierarchy, but I'm not risking anyone getting sick. It's a long trek back to the Normandy's sterilizers. Any questions?"

 

He knows so little about human colony though what he understood, they shared some commonalities with the Asari in economic reasons and several were founded by corporations for economic gain. The later had always been true for the expansion sentient life; a new world, a new vein of wealth and resources. It's how you handled it all. Turians never quite had the same sense of Capitalism as the Asari and Volus, they preferring to use the interests of the government and the community to fund and support colonies. 

 

Of course, that concept had led to the Unification Wars, hadn't it? But that had been millennia ago, where colony marking that began as defiance became cultural norm under the heel of the turian war machine. Adrien had spoken about that; hadn't they both watched with the horror creeping as they stood facing yet another threat to their home world and beyond? Damned nice to talk to someone who saw the machine, bucked at the machine, and loved it all the same. 

 

Humans, from what Garrus understood, often became fierce and independent at any space of distance from a home world. According to Shepard, this wasn't uncommon among migrants of the different countries of Earth, which had not yet unified under a singular global government. For the human psyche, the past was tapped into the poor times, manipulated during the worst, and honored if white-washed under the best.

 

Maybe not all that terribly different from turians, he mused.

 

Though he held point, he kept alert to the humans’ body language as they approached the remains of the outpost. He’d only been on Horizon and Eden Prime, but there was something of a disorganization of the prefabs with little consideration for the concept of ‘aliens’ that could approach and destroy their homes. The thing was, Garrus grimly noted, he wasn’t seeing any signs of an attack.

 

Had it been seeking the remains of gun fire that triggered that **awful** sense of dread that crept over him? Looking back on it a few days later, he’d think so. Months later? Well…

 

There’s a small tremble in his sub vocals as the emotion washes over him rough and raw; it’s low and deep. Too low for a human to hear, regardless of the intercoms between them. It’s the sound he heard Shepard made, shortly after… after they had their last conversation together on the Normandy. So very brief that it wasn’t a conversation. Not really. He hadn’t even thought much of it until now.

 

Because he knew, he **knew** _something_ had happened to Shepard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm writing this, I'm finding this might have an OT3 or poly forming. I've two candidates in mind since both protagonists are both LBGT+, though one candidate doesn't seem interested and the other is clamoring for this concept. 
> 
> We'll see how it goes.


End file.
